


Disheartened Snowflakes

by saltyynoodles



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Ex-skater, M/M, Past Injuries, Possibly multi-chaptered, Slow Burn, Victuri-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:42:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9317144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyynoodles/pseuds/saltyynoodles
Summary: "Watch me skate?"Those three words changed uninspired baker and ex-skater, Katsuki Yuri's life forever. A story of two people who just happened to meet at the right time (100% uncliche).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello hello! While YoI isn't exactly the best anime ever, it's sure great for writing blocks :/  
> I'm not sure how long this will be, or if I'll even add on, but at the very least, for some reason I fleshed out the plot in my mind. A lot ://
> 
> >> Yuri!! on Ice doesn't belong to this trash :,) Thanks for reading anyways

_ Hasetsu, Kyuushuu Prefecture _

 

Set out the pastries, bake the cakes, apply the little frosted decor on the cupcakes, flip the  _ closed _ sign to  _ open _ — a daily routine. Baking was Katsuki Yuri’s passion.

Or at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself.

After university and escaping the cramped hell of all-nighters and lukewarm meals, anything different had seemed like a blessing. But now the cinnamon and bready scents of the small family bakery Yuri was now doomed to indefinitely run seemed more like a toasty cage rather than sweet freedom. He brushed his dark locks from his eyes and sighed. 

The monotonous feeling of  yen slipping between his fingers day after day, seeing blurry faced customer after customer— Katsuki Yuri was dying in a twenty-some year old body.

Some days were good, many were bad. Most of the time, Yuri just felt like sleeping. While some might’ve blamed his slight belly for the fact he spent the majority of his time in a store of baked goods, he knew it was really due to his somewhat chronic fear of exercise. Or rather, exercise facilities. 

Because exercise facilities reminded him of conditioning and training and— 

_ His thick skates were snugly tied to his feet, strings expertly weaved into a secure bow. They were dry, but the metal seemed to hum with the anticipation of biting into the fresh ice.  _

When the bell on the door had  _ clanged _ once again, he thought nothing of it. Just another customer that would come, go, and exit his life forever. “Katsuki Cafe, what can I help you with?” he duly receipted.

“Is there anything good to eat here?” an awkward voice stumbled out, accented English hitting the baker. He never liked English— or rather, leaving the comfort of his native Japanese.

_ His ears were assaulted with announcers eagerly speaking from all languages. Occasionally, he even caught his own name, warped and twisted by foreign accents. With long-practiced ease, he slid onto the ice. _

He changed dialects, “oh we have pastries, coffee, and some other small foods. We’re a bakery.” Yuri smiled not unkindly, unsure if the visitor could even understand his English— uni and his English course felt like a long time ago. His time overseas felt even longer in the past.

“ _ Bakery _ ? How lovely!” the silver-haired man grinned broadly. Yuri tried not to spend too long pondering the drastic difference in the grey hair  and the man’s rather young complexion. “My name is Viktor Nikiforov!” and, with the bluntness only a person who has yet to learn the finesse of a new language, added, “please—  _ watch me skate _ !”

Yuri’s smile froze.  _ Skating _ . He hadn’t thought about skating in a long,  _ long _ time.

_ His leg slipped. He’d fallen before— countless times. Icy bruises are practically in the job description of figure skating. But  _ this—  _ this is different. He feels the  _ snap _ more than he hears it, such a fragile and yet life-shattering sensation, thrumming through his frame.  _

Without a second thought, Viktor sat down in one of the many petite chairs in the bakery, slim figure easily sinking in, form blending easily with the bakery background, as if he’d been made for it. Before the baker knew it, he was giving up his name and college, discussing things that were normally _not_ _casual customer chat._

Yuri awkwardly made his way to Viktor’s table, setting down the croissant with a light vanilla-lemon drizzle  and warm brown coffee. “Sorry for the wait,” he apologized, making his way back to the registrar.

“Wait—” the skater stopped him. “The bakery is empty, no? Sit, sit!” Viktor’s insistent tone made Yuri forget it was his bakery. 

“Are you familiar with skating?” Viktor cheerfully asked. “You seemed— ah, what is it— there was recognize in your expression?”

“Recognition,” Yuri corrected before it even registered in his mind. “And, uh, yeah. I skated a . . . . a long time ago.” They grew quiet except for the gentle AC kept on for the comfort of tourists. 

_ “And that’s quite a fall from up and coming skater, Katsuki Yuri. He makes his way up to recover and continue his performance and—  _ oh  _ dear, his leg gave out! He’s currently on the ice and paramedics are streaming onto the ice. Skater Katsuki Yuri is getting up with assistance but it  _ does not look good _. That was definitely a fall for the records, or at very least, his career!” _

“Were you any good?” the Russian’s accented voice took him out of his reverie.

He blinked, “sorry?”

Viktor grinned easily, “were you any good at skating? When does the shift end? There is skate rink on top of hill, yes?”

Yuri’s fingers brushed against his waist and hip. “Ah, I don’t think I’m too up for skating.” He abruptly stood up, clearing the dishes and flipping the sign on the door. “I think that’s enough, actually. Both the rink and this bakery are actually supposed to be closed right now— we went a bit after hours, sorry about that.”

_ Pain— fiery pain finally began taking over as they loaded him into the ambulance. He distinctly found amusement in how Americans seemed so slow in everything but in emergencies. Was this an emergency? _

“Wait— I do not understand?” Viktor slowly moved, trying to lean against Yuri’s clear motions to  _ get him out _ . “I have hotel but it is far away— Yuri—”

“I’m sorry Viktor this place is closed and my mother just texted and she really needs me home—”

One push without much regret put Viktor Nikiforov into the chilly night. 

The door slammed shut and Yuri let out a huge sigh. He cleaned his glasses against his shirt— a nervous tic. He smoothly took his phone out of his pocket as he closed up, not checking to see if Viktor had left. He exhaled slowly and the screen shone brightly in the dim bakery:  _ no notifications _ .

Yuri’s hands were shaking and he it took him three tries to shut off his phone. He stood for a moment, trembling from adrenaline. His leg tingled.

“I don’t think I’m too up for skating,” he whispered to the quiet backroom, tears finally trickling down. 


End file.
